


Royal Salute

by Besina



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drunk Texting, M/M, One Night Stand, anonymous texting, flirtation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 10:05:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14330121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Besina/pseuds/Besina
Summary: Who knew overwork and a misdialed text would be enough to make a buttoned-up Mycroft enjoy a risky and risqué offer?





	Royal Salute

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Besina  
> April 15, 2018
> 
>  
> 
> Written as a flash fic during 221B Con 2018, wherein we were given a location, an activity, and two character names, then 40 minutes to type out a fic utilizing them. So, this is my attempt; my prompts and the actual pairing, if you're too curious to wait, are in the end notes.
> 
> Given the nature of the challenge, this is effectively a zero draft with no thorough edit or beta - still, I hope you enjoy it! Feel free to point out any mistakes!

Very few people had his number save for a few of his ‘superiors’, Anthea, Sherlock, and Lestrade so the incoming text from the blocked number should have been something disregarded as a fluke - a misdial on someone’s behalf, save the fact that the phrasing, even with the frequent misspellings, or obvious finger-slips on the keys, seemed somehow familiar.

Mycroft had had a very long night, still stuck at the office, tired and wanting to go home, yet this was possibly the most diverting thing to happen to him after wading through stacks and stacks of pathetically boring government paperwork and red tape. . Someone somewhere should be tasked with streamlining the process, eliminating the need for repeating the same information over and over on various forms. Perhaps whatever lower minion next annoyed him.

He stared down at the text again, pondering.

 _“Hello, sexy.”_ Surely a figment of his imagination, but he could swear those two words nearly purred at him. Mistake or not, they still brought a blush to his cheeks. It had been too long since anyone thought of him as more than a robotic bureaucrat.

 _Wrong number,_ he thought to himself, but still… a lonely retreat to his home seemed, well, sad, overall - maybe a few moments to engage this stranger rather than just send a bluntly worded correction.

The only time a misdial had happened before occurred when Anderson had apparently gone thru Detective Lestrade’s contacts and mistakenly mixed up Mycroft’s number for Sally Donovan, and _that_ text had been truly disconcerting. His correction then had been immediate and stern, and Anderson had all but disappeared anytime Mycroft had wandered onto a crime scene or into the Yard ever since.

“Hello,” he typed back cautiously, unsure of what people usually said in these circumstances. This, at least didn’t begin with a lewd, fetishistic, request to come clean someone’s floors.

“Have a good day, darling?” It was an innocent enough question, but still seemed loaded. Perhaps he’d been alone far too long…

“A long one,” he typed back.

“Oh, I bet it is...” This time with a winky emoji. “I’ve had an exhausting day myself, nothing like a warm bubble bath and a bit of top shelf scotch, is there?”

Mycroft outwardly sighed. It was a ritual he seldom had time to employ himself, but one of his favorites. A nice long soak in his roomy jacuzzi bath, a tumblr of expensive whiskey in one hand, candles, if he felt the need for further relaxation, and any number of books he’d been meaning to read on hand to clear his mind from the frustrations of the day.

Another connoisseur, interesting. “What sort do you fancy?” he asked back.

“I wasn’t sure I’d enjoy it, but currently, “a lovely 50-year old Royal Salute by Chevas Regal - I believe it runs around £7000 and very rare. I’m currently enjoying it stretched out on the most luxurious king-sized bed I’ve ever experienced.”

Mycroft’s enjoyment morphed into a cold chill down his spine. The Royal Salute was indeed rare, and currently sitting locked up in his cupboard for a decent excuse to drink it. The bed sounded suspiciously familiar also.

“Who is this?” he texted back, warily, and beginning to type in an alarm to his personal security services.

“I believe you’ve interrogated me before, sweetheart. You were very… _thorough_. But let’s set that aside for the time being. You’re handsome, smart and surely in need of release, and I’m bored, a tad bit more than tipsy, and highly interested, darling. No strings attached, and no assassination attempt, I promise. At least tonight.”

Mycroft stopped typing, blinked several times, pondered for about 2.4 seconds, considering how mad this response might be, before throwing caution to the wind: “I’ll be there in 10 minutes.”

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a Mycroft/Moriarty pairing. The prompts I was given were: Mycroft's house, Drunk texting, Jim Moriarty, and Anderson.
> 
> * * *
> 
> My official Tumblr, though I'm not on it much anymore, is [here](https://besina.tumblr.com/), though be warned, it is absolutely NSFW.
> 
> Please do not make this fic available through any other means.  
> Permissions for other uses are listed on my profile page.


End file.
